


Learning to Love

by WillowClemson



Category: Original Work
Genre: BDSM, Bartenders, Bruises, Daddy Issues, Drunkenness, F/M, Fucked Up, Hate Sex, Love/Hate, Marks, Masochism, Original Character(s), Plotty, Porn With Plot, Rape, Relationship Problems, S&M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:08:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24930559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillowClemson/pseuds/WillowClemson
Summary: A BDSM story.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 2





	1. Workable (Sarah's PoV)

He's eyeing me from across the room and has been for the past two hours. I've been deciding whether or not I'm going to invite him over by oggling back. The bartender pours me another drink, I down it and pay for another. He clicks his tongue and pours it reluctantly. I down that one, too. After my fifth chugged drink, the bartender cuts me off, and I have no choice but to stop stalling. I look back at the oggler and giggle. He makes his way to my side and puts his arm around my waist.  
"Hey, gorgeous," his smile is blinding and he speaks like we're dating already. Admittedly, his confidence is a little overwhelming. But I go along, wrapping my arm around his shoulder.  
"Hey, beautiful. I'm Sssarah," he's a little blurry and I'm grinning like an idiot.  
"Daniel," he leans in and kisses me, not even giving me the chance to start a conversation. He's a little rough and a little quick on the draw, but he has been pointing himself out for three hours, and I'm more than a little drunk. So I kiss back.  
Then, he's dragging me by the wrist out of the bar before I can say anything. I think we're going to his place, but he pulls me by my arm into the alley behind the bar. He gropes at me and pulls my dress until it's only bunched around my waist, my breasts and cunt exposed to the filth of the city  
"Wait," I try and shove him off, but he's pinned me to the brick and I can't even see straight. His hand barely wanders before finding it's target. "Wait, no! Daniel get off! Oww! You're hurting me!" I start to cry and push at him in vain. He digs his finger into me, pulls my hair, and bites my neck and breasts. He doesn't speak to me, just growls like an animal. Then, he pins me with one hand, and undoes his jeans with the other. This is not how I envisioned this night ending-with me unwillingly half-naked in an alley, begging and helpless like a little girl. "No, please! Daniel, please don't do this, not here! Please!"  
"Hey!" There's a voice from the distance. I ignore it. So does Daniel. He has his cock out and is aiming for my cunt.  
"Please, let me go! Please no! No! NO!" I kick and scream, but he's got me pinned, at his mercy. He shoves inside me, starts pumping, and I stop trying. I go limp. I give up. My eyes glaze over and everything is out of focus until I'm not there anymore. I'm back in my dreams from home, somewhere I haven't been in a long time. I'm just floating, floating, flying in the sky of my dreams, looking down on happier things.  
"Hey! HEY, MOTHERFUCKER!" Daniel is torn away from me, and I crumple to my knees and fall over on my side, my dreams following me to the ground. But I can see there's a guy, just beating the crap out of Daniel. He only stops when Daniel stops cussing and falls to the ground groaning. He comes toward me and my dreams and memories turn into nightmares.  
"NO, no please! Not again!" I try to crawl backward away from him and hit the wall behind me.  
"No, nonono, no, shhhh, I'm not gonna hurt you. You're gonna be okay," he speaks softly and doesn't touch me, his hands where I can see them, even through my booze-blurred haze. "I am not going to hurt you. Your dress, can I help you put it back on?" I nod, my back up against the wall, still shaking from the nightmares. He touches my arm when he grasps the first strap, and I flinch. He pauses, then I feel him gently slip my straps back up over my shoulders and slowly pull the skirt of my dress back down over my hips. My eyes start to refocus. It's the bartender. He's put his hands back in front of him where I can see them. "I'm going to go over there and tie him up, then I'm going to come back, and we can go inside and get you some water. Is that okay with you, Sarah?" I nod. He goes away for a minute, but then he's back. He holds out his arm like a butler would to a princess, and I grasp it, helping myself to stand. My head spins and I stumble in my heels, but hold on tight to his arm. We walk inside and he sits me down on a long crate in the kitchen, then pours me a glass of water. I have to take it with both hands so I won't drop it; they won't stop shaking. "Please drink this, then lay down for a little while. I'm going to talk to some people who will help you. Will you wait right here until I get back?" I nod while guzzling the water. He walks out of sight. When I finish, I put the glass on the floor and lay down. I can still hear his voice, but I don't understand it.  
"Hernando, otro tipo no entendía "no" en la parte de atrás. Necesito llamar a la policía."  
"Malditos borrachos," Another voice from the kitchen. Then, the bartender comes by with his cellular to his ear, and stands in the doorway looking outside.  
"This is Jack from the Perezoso Coyote bar. I have a report for Sergeant Marley. ... Thank you. ... Hey, Ryan. ... We got another one. Perp is male and tied up out back, and I've got the Vic here with me. Female. Gonna need a transfer and a medic for both of them. ... Thanks." He hangs up and comes to kneel next to me.  
"Hey, Sarah. I have a friend who can help you. He's sending someone to pick you up. She's going to ask a lot of questions, but she won't hurt you. You okay with that?" I finally find my voice again and start to realize what's happening.   
"Uh-huh. Thanks," I can't look him in the eye. This man watched me get drunk, saw me get raped, beat the shit out of my rapist, and called the cops for me. All because I was dumb enough to follow a sociopath. I feel stupid. I feel ashamed. I feel guilty. New tears blur the room and I curl up into a shakey ball of drunken flesh. But he's still there, squatted down next to me. He isn't going away. I look at him and wait. But he stays quiet. "What do you want?" I sob. He doesn't miss a beat.  
"To make sure you stay safe." It's only then I look him in the eye. He has heterochromia iridis: one brown, one gray. He reminds me of a husky I had when I was little. I always felt safer when he was around, that is, until my father beat him to death with a whiskey bottle. Jack's voice interrupts my thoughts. "Do you want me to go away?"  
"No!" I answer so quickly it cuts off the end of his question. I can't stop looking at his eyes. "No. No, don't go away."   
"Okay. Then, I'm not going anywhere. You can relax and I'll make sure you're okay." he sits down next to me on the floor, keeping eye contact with me. "Let's help you relax, huh? Do me a favor and breathe with me, Sarah." I do as he asks. "Slowly in ... and slowly out ... and in ..." we keep breathing like this until I stop sobbing. I keep looking at those eyes until the room starts spinning and I have to close mine not to throw up. "You still doing okay, Sarah?" I answer without opening my eyes.  
"Yeah, just dizzy." I keep my eyes shut and we keep breathing for what seems like hours.  
"Sarah," I open my eyes and there's a woman kneeling next to Jack. "This is Cindy. She's going to help you from now on, okay?" 

It's been two years since Jack helped me. I bet he had no idea what he'd be doing to me a few months later...


	2. Workable (Jack's PoV)

Its a usual night at the bar: drunk hobos wandering in and out, businessmen drowning their losses in what I pour them, all manner of people doing the exact same thing: pretending. I've had to cut off two men and a girl in the past half hour. The drunk girl was approached by a drunk man and right after introducing themselves, they decided to feel each other up and play tonsil tennis right in front of my barstools. The least you could do is take that shit to a dark corner. I was about to ask them to leave when they sped away and out the door, no doubt to have a one night stand they'd both regret.  
I can't stand people like that. Sex shouldn't be an impulsive thing. It should be planned out, meticulously and carefully, such that no one is harmed. Dumb fucks like that end up pregnant and remorseful. I look around and check my watch-twenty to closing. No one at the barstools seems to require my services. 'I should start wrapping up.' I wander from the counter to the kitchen and ask Mr. Hernando what he needs.  
"¡Get the damn garbage out! ¡It smells like cow shit in here!" He spits at me in rapid Spanish, like always. 'Ahh, Mr. Hernando, always so sweet about it.' I do as he says, pulling the rancid trash out of the fly-covered can and taking it to the garbage out back. Thing about bars, great places for booze, terrible places for food. As much as I respect Mr. Hernando, I'd never let him cook MY food. I'm almost back inside when I hear a woman sobbing.  
"Wait, no! Daniel get off! Oww! You're hurting me!" I look over and see the drunk couple that just left several yards away, Daniel and Sarah, if I remember correctly. She's between him and the wall, her dress is half off, and he's unbuttoning his pants. 'Oh, fuck no.' I've found people out back after a rape in the alley plenty of times, but I've never been lucky enough to actually catch them and do something about it. I have a special place in my heart for rapists. A place where they tell you to rape your mother, fuck you in the ass if you don't, and cut off your dick no matter what you do. As I get closer, she cries out again. "No, please! Daniel, please don't do this, not here! Please!" I'm too far to stop him.  
"Hey!" I scream so I might distract him. At this point, I'm sprinting down the alley towards them. He doesn't stop moving, and she doesn't stop screaming.  
"Please, let me go! Please no! No! NO!" I can't get there fast enough. The fucker is already humping her when I get there.  
"Hey! HEY, MOTHERFUCKER!" I swing for his nose and clock his jaw good enough to jar him. I grab the colar of his Frat jacket and yank him away from her. She falls, but he's my main concern right now. His frat-guy mouth is running non-stop and he's trying to swing at me, but he's drunk. I easily dodge his swing and something in me clicks. I remember this. I know how to do this. I distract him with my left jab and bring my right uppercut right into his diaphragm. He doubles over, but I don't stop there. I can't stop hitting his pretty, fratboy face. Maybe if I hit him hard enough, he'll be so ugly no girl will ever fall for his shit again. Maybe if I hit him hard enough, I could kill him. I imagine my father, buckling underneath my fury, but still refusing to go all the way down. My arms are getting tired, so I take my knee to his gut until I can see blood pouring out of his mouth. 'Good. I hope it's agony.' He finally falls and I'm about to start kicking him in the ribs when I catch a glimpse of Sarah. She's on the ground. So is he. I can help her now. I walk towards her and she screams again, shuffling back into the wall, her hands in front of her face.  
"NO, no please! Not again!" 'Shit! I'm not him!' She thinks I'm a monster, too. Knowing she's been violated, I keep my distance, give her some space. I put my hands in the 'I'm innocent' position and keep my voice low as not to spook her. Her tits are still hanging out and her dress is rucked up, but I focus on her face.  
"No, nonono, no, shhhh, I'm not gonna hurt you. You're gonna be okay. I am not going to hurt you. Your dress, can I help you put it back on?" She shakes her head yes, but just barely. Her pupils are dialated and she doesn't look at me, but off to the side, as if she's thinking of something else. I try to pull up one of her straps, but she jerks, so I stop. She settles and I try again. This time, she lets me. When I get her clothed again, the man stirs. I'm still focusing on her, but he needs to be restrained. "I'm going to go over there and tie him up, then I'm going to come back, and we can go inside and get you some water. Is that okay with you, Sarah?" She shakes her head yes, still looking into the distance. I have to suppress my anger as I return to the frat boy. Fucker is begging for his mommy. 'And wouldn't Mommy be proud.' I rip parts of his t-shirt off and make two long strips. One for his hands, one for his ankles. I tie my best square lashing with what I've got around each, then go back and take Sarah inside. She's probably in shock. I settle her down on the deep freezer and get her a water. "Please drink this, then lay down for a little while. I'm going to talk to some people who will help you. Will you wait right here until I get back?" Again, she shakes her head yes. I walk into the kitchen and Hernando looks like he's about to give me a tirade for taking so long, so I cut him off in his native tongue.  
"Hernando, another guy didn't understand "no" in the back. I need to call the cops." He sighs.  
"Damn drunks." He knows as well as I do that rapes in the back alley are nothing new. Last week it was a young Asian guy and some sort of dominatrix American bitch, had a strap on under her dress. I call Ryan and walk to the back door to make sure frat boy is still incarcerated. The operator picks up as usual.  
"Yuma County Sheriff's Department, what is your emergency?" Her Californian accent rings like a bell.  
"Hey Janet. This is Jack from the Perezoso Coyote bar. I have a report for Sergeant Marley."  
"Hi Jack. I'll put you through."  
"Thank you."  
"Sergeant Ryan Marley." A gruffer voice with hints of both Mexico and Texas.  
"Hey, Ryan."  
"What you got for me, Jack?"  
"We got another one. Perp is male and tied up out back, and I've got the Vic here with me. Female. Gonna need a transfer and a medic for both of them."  
"I'll send 'em right over, along with Cindy." As much as I admire the strength of what she does for a living, I hate Cindy. She's been a rape/trauma victim specialist for over 20 years, but she's only been in Arizona for two, and she has a helluva New York attitude that I'd love to shove right back down her throat. She treats both the victim and perp as trauma victims and blames the bar for the rapes. I blame her for not preventing them like Joanne did before she retired.  
"Thanks." I hang up and go back to Sarah. "Hey, Sarah. I have a friend who can help you. He's sending someone to pick you up. She's going to ask a lot of questions, but she won't hurt you. You okay with that?" She still won't look at me, but she seems a little less distant.  
"Uh-huh. Thanks," she speaks. 'That's good.' I crouch there next to her, studying her for more improvements. She starts to sob again and goes into the fetal position. 'That is not good.' I let her cry it out. She needs time. She looks at me for a moment. I don't say anything. Then she bursts. "What do you want?" 'What I always want in this situation.'  
"To make sure you stay safe." She looks at me again like she's going to say something, but stops short. "Do you want me to go away?"  
"No!" She yells, staring at my eyes, shifting from one to the other and back again. 'Ah, she's noticed the heterochromia.' "No. No, don't go away."  
"Okay. Then, I'm not going anywhere. You can relax and I'll make sure you're okay." My legs are starting to burn from crouching, so I let myself go to the floor. "Let's help you relax, huh? Do me a favor and breathe with me, Sarah." She struggles to breathe regularly through her sobs. "Slowly in ... and slowly out ... and in ..." She starts to calm down, still hopping from eye to eye, as if her mind can't figure out which eye is the right one. Then, she shuts hers abruptly. "You still doing okay, Sarah?" She keeps them shut, but is still speaking coherently and breathing in time with me  
"Yeah, just dizzy." We breathe together until she's snoring. I can't believe someone could sleep at a time like this. I hear the sirens outside and go to greet Ryan's associates and the ambulance. Only one has arrived, and I make it priority to get Sarah out first. I meet Cindy after talking to the EMTs and take her inside. We kneel down next to Sarah again.  
"Sarah," She looks at me then Cindy, then me again. "This is Cindy. She's going to help you from now on, okay?" Cindy takes over.

Four months later, Sarah was mine. It's been two years since we met. After all she'd been through, I couldn't imagine why she'd ever want to be with someone like me.


	3. Dysfunctional (Sarah's PoV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2 years later...

The waiter looks expectantly at us, still awaiting an answer.  
"We'll have the lobster, broiled, with the house's signature sauce. What wine do you think would go well with the lobster, dearest?" He smirks at me, knowing full well I know nothing about wine and that I hate seafood. 'You think you're so damn clever. Joke's on you, smartass.'  
"Scratch wine," I turn to the waiter, "We'll take a bottle of the hardest liquor you sell here, and make it snappy, would you dearest?" I wink and blow a kiss to the waiter who blushes furiously while glancing nervously at Jack, who is almost snarling at me, then hurriedly slinks off to the kitchen to fetch the booze. I smirk triumphantly back at him whilst his snarling persists and he struggles to speak through grit teeth.  
"So help me-"  
"What? Gonna drag me out of here and into a dark alley as fast as you drug me into this awful place? I may as well get drunk and act like an adolescent if you're going to treat me like one."  
"We're leaving," he stands.  
"Like hell I'm leaving without my liquor," I remain rooted in my seat, more with fear than determination. I'll get one hell of a reckoning for this as soon as we leave the safety of the public. But I put on a brave, confident face: the one I practiced for so many years in front of my parents. The one I made when I knew I was doing something incredibly stupid because it was against their collective willpower over me, when I pretended to be a separate being instead of just an extension of them. Control your breathing. Raise your eyebrows. Smile, but scrunch your nose on one side for an effective snarl. Don't blink. Don't flinch.  
He sits back down and the waiter shuffles back with the booze, which he hurriedly deposits on the table and scurries away. Don't relax. Don't swallow. Don't sigh. They're still watching you. Speak like you're in control.  
"I'm going to sit right here and enjoy this entire bottle of..." I pause to read the bottle, "...scotch. Then you're going to drive my drunk ass back to my apartment and leave as soon as you know I'm safely in bed." Raise your eyebrows again and wait; dare them to speak against you. He shrugs and sighs. Not victory yet. Get to isolation.  
"But first, I have to piss." I get up and head to the women's rooms, taking the bottle with me. He lets me walk out of his sight: checkmate. Now, you can relax. Catch your breath. Swallow your anxiety. Sigh away your tension. Prepare for reset. I have the bottle in my mouth before I even sit down. I don't look at him until he's more than a little fuzzy and I can't help but giggle at his angry face. He moves a seat closer to me at the table, but I don't tense up. He won't do anything while I'm toasted.  
It's not that I don't like what he does to me. I love my lack of control over myself. He can make me do whatever he wants, and it turns me on so damn much. But tonight, with this fight, I'd rather lose control of my senses on my own terms. He whispers something I don't understand and gently tries to take the bottle away. I hold on tighter and speak a little too loudly.  
"Nope. Nope. Nope, I get to fuck me up tonight, not you."  
He looks around all stressed. He's so funny when he's flustered. "But you're still cute." I poke his nose and he looks a little amused, so I do it again. And again. And again. He starts pulling away and I miss, falling out of my seat. He catches me, but lets me drop the bottle, the glass and still copious amount of liquid rushing onto the floor in a starburst pattern. I start to sob, "That w...wwas proba...probably ex...p...pensive."  
"I'm paying, so it doesn't matter. Come on." He sounds sad as he hauls me to my feet and towards the front desk. He drops a large wad of bills on the counter and says something to the hostess about change, then we leave. I'm not two feet out of the restaurant before I black out.  
I have a few hazy visions of lights that are too bright and sounds that are too loud. His front door shuts and he turns around to look dismally at me sprawled on his couch.  
"Dis idn't my apardment..." I groan.  
"Mine was closer. You're not light, you know."  
"Danks, hon." I snort and black out again.  
I'm kneeling on the floor, hurling into a small trashcan, his hand on my head, pulling my hair back, the other around my waist, keeping me steady. When I finish upchucking the last of my bile, I rest my head on the edge of the couch and he brings me some water to wash it down. Now that I'm done hurling, I can taste the salt on my cheeks-I've been bawling. He gives me an exhausted look, then brushes some lingering hair off my face, his hand coming to rest at the nape of my neck, supporting my lolling head.  
"You're an idiot," his words are cruel, but his tone and eyes are soft.  
"I love you, too, Jack," I mumble before passing out.

I wake up in his bed. From the tossled blanket on the couch and the smell of coffee and bacon from the kitchen, I can tell he's been a good boy scout and kept his distance, ready to make an apology I'll all too readily accept; so, we can have some really hot makeup sex and call it a day. As if on cue, he walks in with a plate of bacon, a cup of coffee, and an apologetic smile.  
"I'm sorry I got so worked up yesterday," with the understatement of the year, he kisses my temple and sits down in the bed, his easy grace undeniable as he doesn't spill a drop of coffee.  
"I'm sorry I got wasted and threw up on your couch," I shrug and smile as much as my ringing hangover migraine will allow.


	4. Dysfunctional (Jack's PoV)

The slim scrap of a man next to us clears his throat. I know she'll hate me all the more, but my anger fuels me and she deserves punishing much worse than a few terse words; so, I conjure up the most sickening order I can think of and add a reminder of her inferiority.  
"We'll have the lobster, broiled, with the house's signature sauce. What wine do you think would go well with the lobster, dearest?" I smirk, imagining all the awful combinations she could attempt.  
"Scratch wine," she surprises me. "We'll take a bottle of the hardest liquor you sell here, and make it snappy, would you dearest?" She winks and flaunts her gorgeous body at that pathetic stick taking our order instead of at me. She knows it infuriates me when she shares herself with other men, and even more when the other men enjoy it. And from his flush and obvious boner, 'Dennis' his nametag read, was definitely enjoying it. I'd have to remember to request the furthest table from his services if we ever dine here again. 'If she thinks I'll just sit here and allow my girl to tease the wait staff, she is sorely mistaken.' Through my haze of jealous rage, I can barely put together a sentence.  
"So help me-" but she cuts off the few words I managed to string along.  
"What? Gonna drag me out of here and into a dark alley as fast as you drug me into this awful place? I may as well get drunk and act like an adolescent if you're going to treat me like one." I can't take it any more, she needs to be shown her place. She can't throw low blows like comparing me to the likes of him and get away with it.  
"We're leaving," I stand, shaking with her indignation. She destroys my self-control when she's like this.  
"Like hell I'm leaving without my liquor," she stays put, denying my direct command. I am already moving to drag her out like a child just as she suggested, but then, that look. I know that look she's giving me. She's afraid. 'As she should be.' But I can't now. I can't do a damned thing to her. I've scared her. I've made her distrust me, fear that I would actually push her beyond her limits, hurt her beyond repair. No matter how angry I am, I abhor the thought of her fearing me like she did her father. And God knows, she'll punish herself enough tonight with that debilitating drink. My drive diminished, I reign in my temper, attempt to retain control, and regain my position at the table.  
The uniformed stick returns, hefting a fine scotch, no doubt a substantial dip into my pockets from the top self. She takes it without a glance at him. 'That's a start.'  
"I'm going to sit right here and enjoy this entire bottle of...scotch. Then you're going to drive my drunk ass back to my apartment and leave as soon as you know I'm safely in bed," she's bluffing quite well. No doubt her father's doing; any sign of weakness would have been exploited to the last and punished worse than I've ever done to her.  
"But first, I have to piss." She removes herself, taking the skotch with her. I could watch her, follow her, make sure she doesn't do something rash, but she needs to 'reset': it's a term she uses for regaining her composure after breaking down. She shouldn't have to hide herself away from me like this. She shouldn't have to break down outside my arms, let alone because of me. She returns, chugging her poison down like koolaid. When she hits a third of the bottle, I start to get nervous. I hate when she drinks to the point of insanity; it isn't healthy. I move closer to her.  
"I really think we should put this down now," I try to dislodge her from the bottle. "Please, Sarah." She tightens her grip and pulls away from me.  
"Nope. Nope. Nope, I get to fuck me up tonight, not you," she bellows loud enough that other diners look at me crossly. I attempt to rub my anxiety off my face and sit back a bit. "But you're still cute," I surpress a smirk at her sweet, drunken words as she pokes my nose. She repeats this process a few times and as she leans forward, it starts to hurt, so I pull back, and she falls. I catch the off balanced girl in my arms, and her booze shatters onto the floor.  
"That w...wwas proba...probably ex...p...pensive." 'Yes. It fucking was.'  
"I'm paying, so it doesn't matter. Come on," I haul her to her feet, sighing at the sad, disheveled girl, who usually holds a conviction so strong, falling apart over some broken glass. I pull my wallet out, still supporting my darling girl, and retrieve more than enough to cover the skotch and the fine lobster that will surely be wasted. I drop the bills on the hostess's desk.  
"Dennis's table for two has some broken glass that needs cleaning up. This covers everything. Terribly sorry for the mess. Keep the change." We walk out the door and I try to fetch a cab. Of the three I flag down, one actually stays long enough to explain that he locked the doors because he doesn't want to help me kidnap some poor girl and if I was gonna rape some drunk, I wasn't gonna do it in his cab. 'Do I really look that fucking menacing?' She starts to stumble so much I must resort to the one person fireman's carry. Her place isn't going to happen with me hauling her like this. 'My place it is.' Then, she starts screaming.  
"PUT ME THE FUCK DOWN, YOU FUCKING FUCKER!"  
I refuse and she continues her barrage as I carry her. Funny how in this city, the cabs are suspicious of any man with a drunk, but you can carry a girl, kicking and screaming down the street at night on foot, and not even get a sideways look. When we reach my apartment, I am so physically exhausted I'm stumbling too. I can't open the door with her fighting me on my shoulder. She's still spilling vile outbursts at me as I set her down gently on the pavement. If she was in her right mind, I'd beat the indignance out of her and fuck her brains out until she knew what the word "fucker" truly implied. But she's drunk. And when she's drunk, I have an endless well of patience for her shit. As I'm turning the key in the door, she tries to hit me, and I effortlessly catch her wrist in my free hand. She swings her other fist at me and it would have missed anyway, but I stop and restrain her wrists in one hand to open the door with the other without more drunken swings. And I feel it in her hands before she stops spewing her foul-mouthed barrage at me. She gives up fighting with a whimpering cry that crushes my heart.  
"Why?!" She slumps down to her knees in sobbing tears and I turn to her, letting go her wrists. "Why don't you love me?!"  
"No, no no, no, no no no, Sarah, I do love you, I do, I swear I do," I can't stutter the words out fast enough as I envelope her beautiful self in my arms, but she pushes back from me to look in my eyes.  
"Then why don't you tell me? Why don't you show me? You never tell me, never show me, never kiss me, never let me hold you, always so measured, so controlled, like you don't feel," she's speaking so clearly, if it weren't for the crocodile tears and smell of her breath, I'd swear she was utterly sober, "You hide so much, I don't think you do feel anything. Do you? I could have any man beat me, but I want love, too. Tell me you feel something, anything. Tell me to stay, tell me I have a reason to stay," she's begging, not just with her voice, but with her whole body, wrenching and sobbing on her shaking knees, eyes closed as if she's praying, her hands pleading with my neck and shirt and anything they have to hold onto, her face stroking her tear-stained nose and cheeks against mine. I hold her face so she'll stop nuzzling long enough to look at me.  
"Sarah. Sarah!" She opens her eyes and I speak softly to her, "I love you. I love you, with all my heart, body, and head, I love you. I just carried ya 17 blocks for Christ's sake," her giggle is the most rewarding sound and she's stopped shaking. I hold her closer and kiss her tempel. "I love you. I love you," we sit, breathing softly until the last of her sobs recede into the darkness. Her hands wrap around my neck, leeching the heat off my skin and I realize how cold it is. "Come." She stirs in my arms as I shuffle her off my lap, "Come now. It's cold out. Come," I get her to her feet and we are almost inside when she stops. I turn to see the question written on her face before her mouth even opens.  
"Then why?" She cocks her head to the side, again so like a little girl, confused as to the inner workings of an adult mind. 'I need to stop treating her like that. She's not a child.' And in the doorway of my drab apartment, in the dank night air, in the midst of her childish, drunken state, I decide to treat her like the woman she is.  
Her lips are dry, cracked and taste of salt and skotch; the instant spike of fear rising in my chest is familiar; yet, I can't recalled having kissed any woman like this before. The realization hits me like a firm shot on a cue ball: I can't recall having kissed any woman at all. I've never allowed them to get that close. Slowly she pulls me inside and to the couch. My body springs to life at her tantalizing touch, but my mind works furiously against it. 'She's drunk, you dumb fucker. She should sleep and so should you.' I push off of her with some force and readjust my underwear to accommodate my uncooperative dick.  
"No, Jack, please," she mumbles and doggedly tries to protest, but I settle her back down on the couch.  
"Not now, Love. Later. Sleep now." With that, she relaxes and drifts away. I notice the draft, and turn to shut the door before letting out the tension in the tendons I've been holding taut all night.  
"Dis idn't my apardment..." she slurrs from her stupor.  
"Mine was closer. You're not light, you know." She needs the bed. I can't sleep with her, I won't be able to control myself.  
"Danks, hon." She snickers and hiccups. I smile.  
"But I'm willing to carry my girl a few feet more tonight. Up you go," I kneel down to pick her up, but she starts gagging before I can get to her. 'Shit! Where's the trashcan?' I sprint to the bathroom and pull the can out for her. She's managed to contain it long enough for me to only have the couch cushions to clean. I hit the floor hard and hold her hair back as she writhes with the effects of the vile amount of alcohol she consumed. I rub her back and keep her from falling over with my other arm, trying to calm and relax her wrenching body. When there is not even stomach acid left in her, she ceases her convulsions. I hate to see her sick like this, her blatant disregard for her own health. I get her some water and sit down beside her, sighing heavily, still so tired. I catch a strand or two of her hair which has escaped my grasp and return it to its place. She can barely keep her head up. 'Bed time, my sweet.'  
"You're an idiot," I still want to punish her for her stupidity, but it's late, and I love her.  
"I love you, too, Jack," and she slumps into an exhausted sleep. I stoop and carry her off to bed before cleaning up and putting a new bag in the trashcan next to her beautiful sleeping body. I remove her shoes, watch, bra, and pants. These are the things she sleeps without. I swear I could examine every feature of her all night, but I settle for leaving the bedroom door open and finding a spot on the couch where I can keep an eye on her. She has quite the apology to make tomorrow. Pancakes and bacon or just straight up bacon?

I rise early, as I always do, pleased to see my flower is still fast asleep. I begin the morning brew and take a short shower. By the time I start the bacon, the coffee maker has spit out the last of it's stream and steams with a fresh morning scent that makes my mind wander to memories of my childhood. Back when my parents would cook for me, before the drugs and beatings. I let the thought slide off of me like grease off the bacon. It's crisp, just how she likes it. 'Showtime.' I gather the fixings and take it to her. I find her already awake, watching me.  
"I'm sorry I got so worked up yesterday," I sit down and kiss her tempel like I always did before last night. 'How much do you remember, my sweet?'  
"I'm sorry I got wasted and threw up on your couch," she shrugs. 'There it is. Good girl.'  
"You know I hate it when you treat yourself this way," I try my best to keep my voice even and uncondescending, but some slips through and gives her a sharp edge. Clearly, last night's fight is far from over.  
"I'm a big girl, Jack. I can treat myself how I like. You know that," she locks eyes with me as she sips her coffee.  
"Yes, you can. But that doesn't mean I have to like it. Sometimes, I like how I treat you much better than how you do," I run my hand down her face and she shudders. 'In fear?' But my concerns are quickly brushed away as she lays her coffee down to turn and settle back into my lap.  
"Head massage. Now please," she orders. I have half a mind to spank her for that. But...she is hungover, which means she has a grinding headache that needs comforting. I relent and massage her tempels, but not without making my feelings known.  
"You know, some Doms would seriously punish you for that kind of disrespect."  
"Disrespect? For the love of God, hon, you sound like my parents," I narrow my eyes at her. 'I am not your fucking parents.' This seems to calm her firey spirit. "But I am fully aware of how lenient you are with me, and I thank you for your patience, Sir." 'Mmmm' I smile. 'You know I love that, you little vixen.' She makes me feels so powerful; yet, I can tell she doesn't mean it right now.  
"Suck up," I mean to kiss her forehead but she turns her face up to kiss me back. 'NO!' I turn my head. "Ah, ah, ah, what have we talked about?" 'She remembers! But, I can't kiss her. Not again.'  
"Not on the lips," she breathes her answer out like the air is made of lead. I have to cheer her up somehow.  
"Hey, don't look so glum. You know the rules," I rub her cheeks and continue the situation as I normally would. 'What can I do?... Bath! She loves it when we take a bath.'  
"Yes, Sir, I do." She smiles, and I see the resignation in her eyes. Now she means it.  
"Good girl," I pick her up off my lap and smell her skin. 'Booze and bile. Not what I was expecting to smell. Definitely need that bath.' "Now let's get you washed. You smell like scotch and vomit," I laugh and tug her out of bed with me.

As we enter the bathroom, I open her drawer and frown at my lack of bath bombs. 'How could I be so unprepared?' I sit her down, turn the knob for the shower, and wait until it's an appropriate temperature. Without a proper sudsball, I settle for the cheap solution with a heaping scoop of coconut oil for moisture and some vanilla extract for scent, mixing them together and setting them aside. She watches me patiently from her perch, her face serene and her gorgeous eyes hooded. 'How much do you remember?' I step closer and turn to face her.  
"Get up." She rises gracefully to meet me, holding her position like we've practiced. I work from the bottom up, bending down to first remove her socks. I let my nose graze her leg as I do. Next, my boxers; I love it when she wears my underwear. It allows me a magnificent reminder of my possession and very easy access to her pussy when I want it. The elastic barely hugs her hips, as they are slightly too large for her, and slips off swiftly to the floor. I kiss up her leg and nip at her inner thigh before standing and removing her t-shirt. She shudders and the hair on her breasts stands up as little goosebumps appear all over her; yet, she remains still and looking at the floor as not to make eye contact, awaiting my command. 'Very good girl.' I undress myself hastily and hold my hand out to her.  
"Look at me," she obeys and I reward her with a warm smile. "Come." She takes my hand and we both step into the shower. It's a cramped space, but she is all too familiar with the proximity of my body. I work backwards now, from the top down. I position her willing form and tilt her head back into the stream, then carefully work the shampoo into her hair and rinse it out. I pick up the soap and lather my hands until they are thoroughly covered, then begin to methodically rub her body, not missing a spot. I spin her round and take my time cleaning her breasts, relishing the fullness of them. I continue to clean every part of her, taking particular care with her unruly bush. I can barely find her clit in all that mess of hair, but shaving, of all things, is one of her hard limits. I am nearly finished rinsing her legs when she speaks.  
"Sir...may we discuss something?" This is unusual, but I grant her the request, because for one with an aching hangover, she's been quite cooperative this morning.  
"We may. What's on your mind, my Love?" I switch the nozzle to run the bath and add my concoction, settling us both into the water, her in my lap, facing away from me.  
"I was very...I was not myself last night, Sir. I wanted to make sure I didn't do anything overly stupid while under the influence of my drink. I remember very little of my behavior." Her words send my thoughts leaping over my brain: 'She doesn't remember the kiss. She knows she's done something. She's afraid I'll punish her for her sorry state. No, I'll not punish her for yesterday's drunk spat. I'll punish her for her impudent and selfish proposal before her further stupidity.' But I keep them locked tightly within the confines of my own mind and pull her tight against my chest. She's being cautious for a reason.  
"You were a fierce little shit last night," I answer her curtly. She balks back at me, eyes wide, but I quickly dismiss her physical outburst, "Do you think I can't handle a little drunkenness, Love? My only concern is your uncalled for lack of loyalty preceding your bad decision to drink two thirds of a bottle of hard liquor." But, at this, she reels upwards and around, sloshing oily water and glaring straight into my eyes.  
"Lack of loyalty?! How fucking dare you!" I am upright and pinning her to the tile wall faster than she can finish spitting the words out. Last night's fury resurfaces and overrides every other feeling. I keep my voice low and even as I press close to her ear.  
"Lack of loyalty and disrespectful behaviour that deserves punishment," I squeeze her until she squeaks in pain, "and if you'd like to flaunce around with other men, you may be my guest and leave. But otherwise, I expect you prone and dry in my bedroom in two minutes," Grabbing her by the hair, I lead her out of the bathroom and throw her, dripping wet, to the floor of the hallway. I shut the bathroom door, taking a minute to dry myself and another to refine my temper into a sharp tool. Her repeated bouts of indiscretion and misdeeds are unbefitting of a proper sub. I have grown soft these last few months. She needs to be taught a lesson.  
I come into the bedroom to see her lying face down, ass raised, knees bent with her arms laid flat at her sides in the middle of my sparcely furnished bedroom. Again, she's begging me with her whole body. 'Not this time, Love.' I find two lengths of cord and loosly tie her wrists to her calves so she won't move from her position. All manner of mercy is gone from my heart as I open my closet and grasp my weapon of choice. I give her no hint of what I'm going to do. No circling, no warning steps.  
Thwap!  
The blow of the leather comes down hard across the back of her thighs and she yelps like a puppy. Her fists and jaw are clenched, every muscle is on edge. Her skin takes a moment to reach a glistening pink. I want the whole of her hourglass figure to be that colour. I bring another blow across her back. Another gutteral cry comes up from her lungs. Then her ass. A higher pitched scream. Then her pussy. A defeated whimper. And again, in rotation like this, I beat her until her heavily marked back sags and I can see her cunt's swollen lips are oozing with the pain. I kneel beside her and rub her sore ass with my rough hands before leaning over her. I slide two fingers down to fuck her soaking cunt and feel the warmth of her body as I whisper into her ear.  
"You are mine. There is not a man in this world who could take you from me, and I will not tolerate you acting as though you could simply walk into another's arms without consequence." I lean back on my knees, withdrawing my fingers from her, still whimpering, and flip her over by her hips. I pin her to the floor by her neck with one hand and tease her right nipple with the other. Her eyes are shut and her bonded wrists slip down to her ankles. "Look at me." She obeys, her pupils dilated and her irises darting around my face, searching for some hope, some light. In finding none, she looks back into my eyes. I use the hand I have around her throat to push myself up off the floor, picking up the switch with the other. I kick her legs apart until the depths of her widening vagina stare up at me. I drive the switch into her, eliciting a stifled moan. No sooner do I hear her sounds, than do I pull it out of her and swipe her across the tits. She cries out and they bounce gloriously on her chest. And I repeat my motions again and again. Dip, remove, slash. I can't tell if her body is wet with her own arousal or with sweat.  
When I decide I can contain my throbbing cock no longer, I drop the switch and drop my pants. I grab the hair at the nape of her neck, still slightly damp from our bath, and drag her to the bed frame. I remove her bonds and bend her over the bed before thrusting inside her weeping cunt. I grasp both of her wrists and hold them behind her neck, using them as leverage to keep her down as I fuck her. As I do, I admire the way in which her skin has shaded itself: almost like an abstract piece of art, a harsh piece painted with passion and rage. When she tenses, and I can tell she is on the verge of climax, I withdrawal. Her body protests, pushing back into me, searching for some friction, any release. I don't grant her a thing. I want her to be more than unsatisfied. I want her to be in pain.  
I let go her wrists and she slumps to the floor. My breath is ragged and my voice comes out much more strained than I would have liked,  
"Go to the other room, collect your clothes, and leave," I order. She has to try a few times before she manages to get up. She doesn't look at me as she walks out the door. Once I am safely locked in an empty bedroom, I crumple to my knees and cry.


	5. Thoroughly Fuck Up (Sarah's PoV)

"You know I hate it when you treat yourself this way," his voice is gentle, but I can just hear the undertone of chastizement.  
"I'm a big girl, Jack. I can treat myself how I like. You know that," I take a sip of my coffee, not breaking his gaze.   
"Yes, you can. But that doesn't mean I have to like it. Sometimes, I like how I treat you much better than how you do," his knuckles graze my cheek as he strokes me. My eyes flutter shut and I forget for a moment how bad my migraine is; the way he touches me sometimes, it just feels so damn good. I set down my coffee on the dresser and lay back into his lap.  
"Head massage. Now please," he's still apologising; so, I get to boss him around for a slim moment which I will stretch out and ride til the very last second. He breathes a heavy sigh down at me and his reluctant fingers give in to the temptation of calming my throbbing tempels.   
"You know, some Doms would seriously punish you for that kind of disrespect," he frowns contemplatively at me from his lofty position.  
"Disrespect? For the love of God, hon, you sound like my parents," he gives me a warning look, so I humour him. "But I am fully aware of how lenient you are with me, and I thank you for your patience, Sir."  
He hums graciously and smiles.  
"Suck up," he leans down to kiss me on the forehead again and I lean up to return his kiss. He promptly turns his head. "Ah, ah, ah, what have we talked about?" he chides. I sigh disdainfully.  
"Not on the lips," I murmur the correct answer.  
"Hey, don't look so glum. You know the rules," his hands are kind and gentle around my cheeks, but his voice is firm. I remember my place and smile for him.  
"Yes, Sir, I do." Even after two years, calling him 'Sir' still feels so strange when it's not in irony. 'But it doesn't mean I don't hate your fucking rules.'   
"Good girl," he shoves me up and off of him, rubbing my shoulders and nuzzling into my neck. "Now let's get you washed. You smell like scotch and vomit," he chuckles. His laugh is such a lovely sound, I can't help but smile. He slides off the bed and tugs my wrists so I follow. Reluctantly, I get up and trudge with him to the bathroom.

When we get in, he shuts the door and opens one of the drawers under the mirror, then places me down on the edge of the tub. He pulls the curtain around me and turns the shower on. We always shower before a bath, the water is cleaner that way. He fishes some tins out of the drawer and mixes some stuff together. The tendons in his arm contract and bounce as he does, and I can't help but swoon over those beautiful, sexy muscles. I would lick every inch of him right now if it wouldn't upset him. He doesn't like it when I move without his say so. While I'm in his house, I am his to control.  
"Get up," his order comes and I stand for him to take off my clothes. I remember the first time we took a bath and I tried to take my own clothes off. He spanked me and fucked my brains out for that. I miss when he was rougher with me. He doesn't beat me like he used to. He starts to kiss my legs and for a second I think he'll suck me, but then he gets up. 'Damnit.' I'm naked and it's cold. I want to get into the nice hot water with his sexy body close to mine, but I wait, lowering my eyes like he's taught me. He strips quickly and I watch every move he makes, his stomach and cock practically staring back at me.  
"Look at me," he smiles at me. "Come." 'Finally.' We step into the steaming water, his cock so close it brushes my ass. Fuck, I want to bend over for him right now. He takes his sweet time washing me, getting a good feel for my body. 'I want to touch you, too, you douche.' He slides his hands all over me, content to waste time getting every nook and cranny of my body soaped and rinsed. 'Fuck this is taking too long, I won't last a whole bath. I wanna fuck now.'   
"Sir...may we discuss something?" Even talking without permission is out of line. Maybe he'll punish me just for that. I miss the sound of his flogger so much.  
"We may. What's on your mind, Love?" He starts to fill the tub and adds the stuff he mixed from earlier. 'Fuck! Now I have to think of something to say.' He lays my back into his lap and pulls me close to him. God, his cock is right there. So fucking close.  
"I was very...I was not myself last night, Sir. I wanted to make sure I didn't do anything overly stupid while under the influence of my drink. I remember very little of my behavior," if I can remind him of something I did last night, he'll punish me for sure. I always do fucked up stuff when I'm drunk.  
"You were a fierce little shit last night." 'Yes!' I look back at him, doing my best to hide my inner grin. "Do you think I can't handle a little drunkenness, Love? My only concern is your uncalled for lack of loyalty preceding your bad decision to drink two thirds of a bottle of hard liquor." 'Oh, yes. A sweet, sweet way into the bedroom.' He hates it when I cuss at him, and to be honest, he's in the wrong anyway.  
"Lack of loyalty?! How fucking dare you!" I get up and turn around, trying to look as pissed off as I can. He is barely a second behind me, his arm across my collar bone and his other hand grabbing my hip. I could fight him, but I wanna fuck. His lips brush my ear and I can hear his breath before he speaks.  
"Lack of loyalty and disrespectful behaviour that deserves punishment." 'Please, yes. Bite me, bite me please.' He digs his fingers into my hip enough to leave a lovely bruise and presses me harder against the wall of the shower, making me squeal. 'Good enough.' "and if you'd like to flaunce around with other men, you may be my guest and leave. But otherwise, I expect you prone and dry in my bedroom in two minutes," he gets a handful of my hair and tosses me out of the room, slamming the door being me. 'Fuck, he's pissed. Finally, he's gonna be rough.' I hurry to the bedroom and find a towel hanging behind the door. I dry myself as fast as I can and throw it to the hamper. Then, I get down on all fours. 'Nope, not good enough.' I drop my shoulders, resting my forehead on the carpet, and put my hands by my knees. 'Perfect.' After a minute, he comes in, taking a moment to savor the sight before heading to the closet and getting his supplies. He ties my hands where they are to my legs and goes back to the closet without a word. The snap of the switch across the back of my legs surprises me, as he usually walks around a bit before starting. 'I guess he's had enough of the view.' The tingle of my skin where he hit me is one of the best feelings. The sting of the leather comes down my back and I yell. 'Did I yell the first time?' I don't remember, but it doesn't matter. All that matters is the feeling. My right asscheek is next, and then finally, he hits my cunt. God, that feels so good. 'Do it again, Jack, please.' And he starts over, making it a pattern to use over and over again. Until, he stops. He's down beside me and I feel him on my ass, igniting the painful tingle once again. He leans across my back, lighting up every slice of the switch for a second time, supporting himself on his right hand by my shoulder. His two left fingers are inside me as he speaks with venomous intent.  
"You are mine. There is not a man in this world who could take you from me, and I will not tolerate you acting as though you could simply walk into another's arms without consequence." He fingerfucks me, thrusting harder with every word, but then he's gone. 'Don't stop, please.' Then he grabs my hips and spins me on the floor so my tits are bouncing where he can see them. His hands are on me again, putting pressure on my neck and pinching my nipple. I let my bound hands fall to the floor. "Look at me," his words come to me crossly, and as I open my eyes, I realize how hard it is to see, little black dots appearing in my vision and the tingle of pain coming to my head. I have to move my eyes to see all his features clearly, his furrowed brows, his soft, pouty lips, his cheeks, his jawline, his sculpted nose, and those eyes. Those gorgeously deep eyes. I watch the colours in them dance before he gets up, using my neck as leverage and causing a second of complete breathlessness. I gasp air into my lungs, unaware I was even out of breath. He knocks my ankles away from each other and looks down at my cunt. He tips his head to the side as if pondering something, then pushes the end of the switch into me. 'Fuck, that feels good.' I try not to moan and fail, but that's quickly forgotten as the switch slices at my chest, my boobs aching with the pain. Again, he makes it a pattern: pleasure and pain, pleasure and pain. I buck and scream with it, my back arching to meet the switch as it comes down on my tender skin. He hits me all over my front, and now I can see that he is actually leaving thin red marks on me. When I am totally marked up and I can see his erection bulging at his crotch, he lets go of the switch and takes off his jeans, obviously not having worn underwear. He pulls me by the hair, tosses me against the bed, and removes the ropes from my wrists. I know he's going to fuck me now, hard. He pushes me into position and I brace myself. Then, he's inside me, his dick pulsing against the walls of my vagina. In and out and in and out. I'm just feeling now, nothing exists except him and me, his cock and my cunt. He's in me. He is me. And I'm him. He's part of me. We're part of each other. And I'm close, so close...  
And then, he's gone. 'No! Come back!' Part of me, just vanished. My pleasure, my safety, gone. Exhaustion overcomes me, and as he lets me go, I fall. His voice comes like a light in the dark, hoarse with his effort.  
"Go to the other room, collect your clothes, and leave." I get up, but my knees betray me, and I fall. I'm just so tired, but I manage to reach my feet. I can't look at him. If I do, I'll run back into his arms, and disobeying an order would surely earn me more punishing. Not that I wouldn't enjoy it, but I'm thoroughly fucked. As I trudge sleepily to the bathroom for my things, I hear him lock the bedroom door. I know I'm not welcome back for a few hours, and I have to go home. So, I get dressed and leave, locking the apartment door behind me before walking down the stairs to catch a cab.

I wake up from my nap at home, aching and sore. If it were anything but sex, I'd curse what made me feel this way. But it was Jack who made me feel this way, so I cherish it. I look at my hip, but it hasn't bruised. 'Aww, I was so looking forward to it being there.' Lifting my shirt a little further, I see the red aftermath of the switch. I just have to take my clothes off and examine myself. Any normal person would be disgusted, but I love how I look when he's done with me. 'Like art,' he always used to say. Some painting or sculpture worth a fortune and admired by all except the creator who is never finished improving his work. That's how he sees himself: an artist like Van Gogh or Monet, and I: his willing canvas. I do a spin and take one last look in the mirror before putting on fresh clothes. I walk around my apartment aimlessly and see how much of a mess it is. I have a few hours to kill, why not clean up? 'Because you're lazy and don't want to.' But still, it's a mess. So I take some ibuprofen and start with the dishes, then do this week's laundry so I'll have clothes for work come Monday. I sweep the floor and make my bed, then rearrange the CDs by category. I reorganize the kitchen, so I can actually find things when I want to cook, and scrub the stove, oven, microwave, and tub. I didn't want to open a new bottle of heavy-duty scum cleaner for just one thing. I fold and hang up the clothes that are now dry and take a look around. The place is spotless and I'm exhausted again. Somewhere along the way, the cleaning became obsessive. He would have appreciated this, my dad. He'd never have said so, of course. But he always was a cleanfreak.  
"Look at this sty," he walks around my first apartment after I spent hours cleaning up my roommate's mess. No matter how much I did, there was always something that I didn't. And that's the thing he'd find and point out. He picks up the one pan that didn't fit in the dishwasher and I didn't have time to clean, then he discards it. "You've certainly done well for yourself, haven't you? Got your own roof to pay for, got yourself a lousy job," he kicks one of my roommate's cat toys out from under the table and goes to the bathroom. He opens the mirror and finds Henry's razor, dropping it in the sink, "got yourself a man, too. Bet you're damn skippy," He hits my bedroom and starts opening drawers, pulling out my bras, panties, and other lingerie. 'FUCK.' He picks up my dildo, "And what's this? Your pathetic little boy not enough for you, you lustful slut?" He turns to face me and tosses me what's mine before coming uncomfortably close to me. He leans down to rub his stubble on my cheek, caressing my arm with his fingertips. "You should be ashamed. But I understand. No one will ever be as good as Daddy." He grabs my arm and yanks my hair, hovering his lips above mine. I can't help it. My body responds like it always does. He lets go and I sit down on my floor in defeat. He slams the apartment door behind him, leaving me crying in my picked apart bedroom, holding onto a plastic dick for comfort. I wanted so much just to make him proud. But then he up and died. Too little, too late, and good riddance. 'I hope you can see me now, dad.' I have my own, sanitized apartment, a great job that I enjoy, and a good, strong man. 'So, fuck you.' Shaking away the ghosts in my head, I plop down on the couch, click play on my favorite show, and crack open a cold beer. 

'Nope. You're an idiot, Chandler Bing.' I turn off the TV now I'm too pissed to watch any more. He's my favourite, but he's so dumb sometimes. I clear all the beer bottles off the table and wonder if I should go back to Jack's place. He's probably as bored as I am. I try and call first, but he won't pick up. Dumbass never answers his phone. 'Fine, I'll just hike my sexy ass over to your favorite bar.' He always hits the bar after punishments. 'And he chastizes me about drinking.' It's rush hour, no way I'll catch a cab. I saunter to my closet and pick out my hottest piece of clothing: a black, strapless, high-low, trumpet dress. Best $800 I ever spent. 'This outta catch his eye.' Gonna have to wear it with my burgundy stockings and shawl, though; it doesn't cover the red marks on my thighs or my back. I get dressed for the third time today, grab the last of my things, and hurry out to surprise him at the bar.


	6. Thoroughly Fuck Up (Jack's PoV)

Exhaustion. Fury. Contrition. Desolation.  
She makes me this way. But in equal measure, she makes me so much better in what she can give me.  
Assurance. Faith. Conviction. Rapture.   
And yet, she tests me, teases me, like a human taunts a wild dog with a biscuit. She must know she'll get hurt, that I'll react violently to her aggravations. The bitch does it just to rile me. 'No. Not bitch. Girl. My girl. No. My woman.' That didn't used to bother me so much. She used to just be a contract, a means to an end, an outlet. It's been 2 years since then. 'Things change.' To me two years ago, a girl was an object to be played with and manipulated to do what I told it to without hesitation and like it. After all, they just made it so damn easy. Give a random girl at a bar a few emotional "secrets", pretend to have a sensitive spot reserved for them, and they're all yours for as long as you can keep the gag running. When it gets too hard, skip town and start over where the girls are hotter. Being a professional mixologist has its perks; wherever rich people want expensive booze, there's work to be had and floozies to entice after closing. 'So why the fuck is she so goddamn different? Why can't I just ditch this fucking town?' I think I'm too soft on her; she gets such crazy ideas about love and what I, I, me, her Dom, would actually let her do. But it breaks me to pieces to hurt her now. Every time she leaves my bedroom after a beating, I fear she may never come back. Fear: it's something I haven't felt for a long time. Maybe my attachment to her is because of her shared understanding of abusive parents. Sure, I've fucked tons of girls with daddy issues, but not like hers. Her father. Her issues. They match mine perfectly. I'm starting to think we might be related somehow, which is another terrifying thought. Not that fucking family is unknown to either of us. But poly? FUCK that. She wants to be poly. I'd knowingly fuck my own sister before I did that. That is, if I had a sister. I bet she'd be sexy. And strong, well-cut abdominals, good lungs for endurance, flexible thighs, thick ass, lean hips. Runs in the family. It's what my father always liked so much about my brother and I. He kept us fit, taught us to dominate or be tortured. I bet he never expected the day we used our strength against him. Why would she want to be poly? Am I not enough for her? Is there another man? I'd gladly kill him if I could keep her mine. 

Sarah is wearing a wine red dress with a deep red shawl and shoes and nails and lipstick and hairpins while drinking a well-aged Rosé Pinot Noir out of a glass stained the same color as her dress. Everything about her is perfectly coordinated. I walk up to her, but I'm cut off by another man in a deep red suit. He kisses her on the lips and she returns it. She is greeted by another man in a deep red suit. He kisses her also and shakes hands with the first man. I start to run towards her, but the hall stretches, and I can't reach her. She is then greeted by a woman who kisses both men and introduces a third man in a red suit. At this point, I've hit a full-on sprint and am going nowhere. This process continues until she is surrounded by men and women in red. Then, I stop. They're all looking at me with disgust. I notice I am the only man wearing a black suit. Sarah looks at me. One of her fellow women whispers something in her ear. She doesn't break eye contact with me as she answers.  
"Yes, he's the one who beat me for wanting to love all of you." 

I sit straight up in bed, sweat drenching my body and the deep red bed sheet I'm entangled in. I throw it off of me and onto the floor. I'm alone in my room. I think better at the bar, and I need to see Sarah. She always hits the bar after a beating. It makes me sad to think I push her to drinking. I'd ask her what it is that makes her feel the need to drink away her memory after "bed time" with me, but I know exactly what it is. I just don't know how to stop. Enough thinking for right now. 'I gotta go mix some tequilas.' My boss, Hernando, and I are on a "don't ask, don't tell" basis when it comes to my work schedule. I show up when I do and he pays me when he does. Off the books, of course. It's good to be the only mixologist in town that's fluent in Spanish. 

When I get there, the bar is already teeming with the drunken scum of humanity. I dismiss the idiot behind the counter back to washing dishes and scan the room for my love. No sign of her yet. 'Strange.' I pour nine bloody marys, seven martinis, a caipirinha, five vodka tonics, twelve straight whiskeys (seven of which for one man that never seems to get drunk and never takes a woman home with him whom I've come to respect very highly), three manhattans, a white russian, two mojitos, a straight bourbon, and thirty-eight tap beers by the time she walks in the door. 'Finally.' She looks absolutely stunning, in a black dress that accentuates her gorgeous curves perfectly and deep red accessories that remind me of my dream. It's unsettling. I've been begging for her to come in and shoo all the loose, drunk women around me away. She saunters around the counter and right into my arms.   
"Save a drink for me, babe?" she smiles so beautifully, like nothing ever happened. I need to tell her all I've thought about, right now. But not here. I stroke her cheek softly, contemplating exactly how I'm going to ask her. Her grin is immediately replaced with a look of utmost concern. "What's wrong baby?" I turn back to the kitchen and away from her ear.  
"¡I'm leaving early, Hernando! ¡Don't wait up!" I yell to my boss in my best Spanish. She slips out of my arms and I clean up the mess of the dirty measures, glasses, and shaker the idiot busboy left in my area.  
"Leaving already?" She tilts her head to the side in that way she does when she's confused.  
"This is a conversation best had at home, " I answer her, despite Hernando's shouting from the kitchen.  
"¡The Hell you are! ¡No fucking way! ¡We just got the rich white girls! ¡They don't know when to stop wasting their money, and your sexy ass is the only thing that keeps them here! ¡You walk out that door, you are fucked! ¿You hear me? ¡FUCKED!"   
"¡Blow me, Hernando!" I know he'll let me come back. He needs me, and honestly, I could care less if I lose this job. There are other bars in town. And I need to take care of my love before anything else.   
We walk back to my place in silence, our hands squeezing each other in the cold our only means of communication. She walks with her head down, starring at her red heels that make her almost an inch taller than me. When we reach the door, I turn her head up. She looks so worried, I almost want to kiss her. But I'm not ready for that again. Not yet.   
"Things are going to change, Sarah," she tilts her head again, remaining silent, and I feel as though she is staring straight past my skin to my innermost thoughts and emotions. It's really quite frightening. "I love you and I hate that you're afraid of me. I hate beating you just as much as you hate to get beat; you just make me so angry I can't control myself. The thought of you with another man...You are such a wild spirit, and I know you want more than I can ever give you." She nods slowly, her eyes shifting to an unfocused gaze at something far in the distance.  
"Are you going to invite me in?" she twirls her hair and is still not quite here with me.  
"The offer is here, but if you wish to leave after we discuss the future of our relationship, you are free to do as you please." Her eyes shoot back to mine.  
"Free?" she looks heartbroken and pained as though I've hit her across the face. Her voice cracks and her eyes are turning red."Whatever gives you the idea I want to be free? You think I'm a damn puppet that you just play with when you want your cock sucked? That I would actually let you beat the hell out of me if I didn't love it?! That I'm just a scared little girl letting you abuse me like my fucking father did?!" Her inflection has changed from hurt to inflamed and teeth grinding, fists clenched, she's trembling with her anger. I'm dumbstruck, pitilessly stuttering over any words that could make sense to respond with. I've never seen her this pissed, and I swear she confuses the hell out of me the more I talk to her. She changes again, her eyes again distant but colder, steely. Her position harsher, standing straight. "Open the door."   
I hesitate. She takes off her shawl and unzips her dress. By the time I know what she's doing, she's in only a strapless bra and stockings, right out there on my porch. I fumble with my keys and open the door as fast as I can, shoving her inside.  
"What the fuck are you doing?!" I slam the door shut behind us.  
"Fuck you." She's still distant as she turns her nose up in a snarl.   
Out of nowhere and with perfect precision, she hits me.  
"Fuck you." Her backhand catches me offgaurd. She's never slapped me before while sober. I do nothing. She hits me again. And again. And again. "Fuck you. Fuck me. Fuck us." Her hand turns into a fist and finally my brain speeds up enough to react. I catch her wrist mid-swing and pin it to her back, her delicious body crushed, half naked between me and the front door. She struggles against me, yelling unintelligibly, whipping her head back and hitting my jaw. Pain and fury send electricity through my body. I twist her arm and grab her by the hair until she complies. As her breathing slows, I find my voice.  
"Why? What are you doing?" I release her so she can turn and look at me. She still has that snarl and refuses to answer, refuses to listen. "Why are you acting this way?" I run my fingers down her cheek. And she bites me. "FUCK!" I rip my hand away and slap her with the other hand out of sheer reflex. 'Shit!' I've never hit her in the face before either. When she moves her arms to hit me again, I grab her wrists and quickly restrain them in one hand, holding her head still with the other, our faces barely an inch apart. "STOP! Stop! Just fucking stop!" I start off yelling, but with each word, I lose energy and my fury turns into pain. I start to kiss her everywhere: cheeks, nose, eyes, forehead, neck, shoulders, speaking between kisses, "Stop ... please ... stop ... love me ... don't ... hate ... me ... please..." she starts to sob, and I can taste the ocean on her skin.  
"Hit me, Jack...please, like you used to...like he used to...make me feel at home again...please," she collapses in my arms and I wrap her up tight as I can. I know she means her father. I am not her father. I can't. I don't want to hurt her anymore. "Let me go. Let me hold you...Jack?" She pulls away to look at my face. It's my turn to be distant. I am haunted with memories of another woman begging to be hurt.

"Hit me, Butch, please. Hit me, beat me, fuck me, I don't care, just don't make him do it. Please, don't make him, don't hurt him, hurt me, ple-"  
He strikes her hard and as she falls back onto the bed, he continues to tie her up. When she is tied in the proper position, he turns to me and I can smell the cigarettes on his breath.  
"Well, boy?! Do as I taught you. The whore deserves it. Teach her what a real man does when a whore disobeys." 'She's a body. Nothing more. She's just a body. She's not Mom. She's a whore. Just a whore. Just do as he says.' I remain rooted to my space on the ground. I look at Mom, then at my feet.  
"I can't, Sir," my lip trembles and I can't look him in the eyes.   
"NO! Jack, sweetie, just do it, it's okay! I love you! Come here, do as you're told! Jack, just listen to your fath-" He hits Mom again, drags her off the bed, and puts her where she can see. Then, he walks over to me.  
"You know the drill, whore," he addresses me this time, and points me to the bed. I climb onto it and get in position. My mother is screaming and sobbing. I don't need to be tied. I know the rules. I hear the clicking of his zipper coming undone and his pants falling to the floor. 'Just a body. Nothing more. I'm just a body. It's not me. Just a whore. Just do as you're told.' I repeat my mantra in my head. My father climbs onto the bed and grabs me by the hair. 'Just a body. I'm just a body.' Mom is still screaming.  
"NO! NOT AGAIN! NOT MY BABY! LET HIM GO, LET HIM GO! BUTCH, LET HIM GO!"

"Let me go, Jack. Please. Let me go," she's still here. I realize I'm still restraining her, then release my hold. She wraps her arms around me and kisses me. Hard. On the lips. Again.   
But her lips don't feel like his, taste like his, move like his.  
I'm just like him. Which is why I refuse to have children. I fear what I would become.  
But, Sarah...she's nothing like him.   
She's nothing like me.


End file.
